


If I Can't Have You

by Peter_Prker



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, some of that angst, some of that fluff, some of that making out w a superhero and falling in love w their civilian self, you know the works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 21:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peter_Prker/pseuds/Peter_Prker
Summary: Where you sometimes make-out with Spider-Man and sometimes hang out with Peter Parker





	If I Can't Have You

**Author's Note:**

> this is the longest fic i've ever written oh my GOD
> 
>  
> 
> follow me on tumblr if you want @galaxy-parker
> 
> and enjoy!! xxx

You awake to the sound of knocking. Not on glass or wood but on metal, cold and hard and emotionless. You crack an eye open at the sound.

 

Spider-Man is hanging over you, his clothed face mere inches from yours and you start at the sight of him. Your heart speeds and then slows again in an irritating mantra. At the shock  _ sure _ but the sound of his voice makes your body feel like it’s on fire.

 

“Hey,” The fabric of his mask stretches, revealing a grin and you shove his face away before pushing yourself up on bruised elbows. He laughs, straightening his spine. “What the hell are you doing out here?” 

 

You could give him the real answer, a straightforward truth- that you fell asleep on your rickety, rusting fire escape with the hope that he would appear- but you could never tell him that for fear of judgment and because he would _ never _ let you live it down. 

 

So the answer that’s pulled from you isn’t a complete lie, but it’s barely a truth either. 

 

“Well, I  _ was _ stargazing before your fat head blocked the view.” 

 

“You were asleep,” he cocks his head. His voice is monotone and devoid of humor but you’ve hung around him enough to know he’s only joking. He points to the sky. “Plus you can’t really go stargazing in New York. You follow the line of his finger, eyeing the pitch black sky. 

 

You move your hand through the air as if you were waving away a foul stench. 

 

“Details don’t matter,” you say, sitting up straighter and crossing your legs. Spider-Man leans back against the metal steps leading to your noisy neighbors. In moments like these you forget everything that he’s done for New York, forget all that he has yet to endure. 

 

A superhero’s mask is a heavy one to carry and, selfishly, you’re glad that you aren’t burdened with the task. 

 

He shakes his head and you’re sure that if it weren’t for the necessity of anonymity you’d see his eyes roll. “Then why’d you have to specify that my head was fat?” 

 

You bite your lips to try and suppress your grin to no avail, and lift a shoulder. “Some details do.” 

 

He taps the web despenser on his wrist twice, a tick you’ve realized, before glancing up at you again. “You’re gonna catch a cold,” he says.

 

“Not if I haven’t already,” you reply, bending your knee. “Joke’s on you, I’ve been out here for hours.”

 

The eyes of his mask grow and shrink and the fabric stretches just a little more before he says: “Thought you were stargazing?” 

 

A sling of curses flits through your mind at your misstep and you twist your head around to avoid his gaze.  _ It’s not like it was a very reliable excuse to begin with _ , you think to yourself. 

 

“Okay,” you breathe. “You got me.” 

 

“So you  _ were _ waiting on me then?” 

 

“Wha-?” your eyes widen as you take him in. His arms are crossed and he’s tilted his head in curiosity. There’s a suspicious lilt in his voice, deepening the sound of it. It reminds you of the night you’d first met and the ridiculous accent he’d put on to try and hide his age and identity. Over time the accent slipped until it faded completely and now he’s just  _ Spider-Man _ sounding a little bit like every boy you know. “I never said that.” 

 

He laughs again brazenly and tilts his head to the cloudy sky. “Alright.” 

 

There are moments, much like this one, when you wish you could see his face. When you wish you could see the glimmer in his eyes and the tilt of his mouth when you know he’s smiling. When you wish you could feel his skin. When you wish you had more to work with than an emotionless mask. 

 

Not that you  _ haven’t _ felt his skin, that is. 

 

“Well,” you huff, crooking a leg. “Since you’re here anyways…” 

 

Your words trail off but he doesn’t make you go on. He’s already pushing off of the metal and reaching out a hand. You take it without hesitation and he pulls you flush against his chest. “As you wish,” he whispers and you roll your eyes. 

 

“Been watching the Princess Bride again, have you?” 

 

A short exhalation is the only reply he offers you before he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and shooting a web to the roof of a building. It only takes another second before you’re flying away from your tiny apartment and into the sky.    
  


The chilled air stings your throat as you breathe it in but you can hardly find it in yourself to care as you grip the hero’s shoulders tighter and squeeze your eyes shut. Butterflies perform a choreographed routine in your stomach, you can’t help but grin. 

 

All too soon Spider-Man is casting to a stop on an abandoned roof, leaving you breathless and filled with life. 

 

He doesn’t pull away from you and you don’t push him. You just grin up at him like a kid in a candy store, waiting for a treat. He shakes his head and you can sense the laughter in it before he lifts his mask and lets it sit folded just underneath his nose.

 

His lips are pulled into a stupid smile and you catch your tongue between your teeth at the sight of it. 

 

And then he’s kissing you.

 

His lips are soft and warm and you kiss him back eagerly. Your eyes fall shut, darkness coating the world but still you see colors bursting behind your eyelids and feel a giddy warmth spreading through your chest. 

 

But your starcrossed kiss is shattered when the bunched up fabric of his mask grates against your skin. If you don’t stop kissing him it’ll surely leave you red and raw. But  _ god _ you don’t want to stop kissing him. 

 

You pull away, catching your breath and pressing him back with a finger against his chest. He wines and chases after you again but you resist. “SM,” you say, cocking your head. His lips pull upward at the nickname. “I’m sorry but your mask is  _ way _ irritating, dude.” 

 

He purses his lips. “ _ Dude _ ,” he mumbles. “I gift her with rooftop rendezvous and kisses and she calls me dude.” There’s humor behind the words as he shakes his head, lifting the mask further to uncover just the tip of his nose. 

 

“ _ Bro,” _ you laugh, gripping his neck and pulling towards you until your noses brush. “Kiss me.”

 

“As you wish,” he says. His lips are against yours again before you get the chance to roll your eyes. 

 

~

 

“Making out with Spider-Man again, I see,” MJ’s voice holds no humor when she sits down behind the desk in front of yours, but her eyes dance with it. She rips open her bag and fishes out a manufactured bowl of fruit. You reach across your table and punch her in the shoulder. 

 

“Keep your voice down,” you hiss and she laughs now, rubbing her arm as you press your fingers to your lips. They don’t  _ feel _ swollen from yesterday, but still-

 

“It’s not your mouth, Y/N, it’s your entire face.” 

 

You narrow your eyes but the annoyance you expected to feel doesn’t show, instead you want to laugh along with your friend. So you do. 

 

“You’re so mean,” you giggle, trying to school your features into indifference, but then again acting was never your strong suit. 

 

“You’re so whipped,” she spears a piece of fruit on her two pronged fork and chews on it languidly. “He could be thirty, you know.”

 

You shake your head. “He is not thirty.” 

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because I know!” 

 

“Mmm,” MJ hums, knocking aside a grape in favor of a strawberry that looks far too limp to be healthy. “Whatever you say Mrs. Spider.”

 

“Mrs. Spider,” you say. “Really?”

 

“Would you prefer Mrs. Man?” she blows a puff of hair from her eyes only to let it fall back just as easily. “Cause I can change your name to that in my contacts instead, if you’d like.”

 

“Y/N is  _ fine.”  _

 

“I’m sure,” she glances over her shoulder before leaning forwards too far to be casual, giving you the impression that she has a secret to tell. You follow her lead until her mouth is close enough to your ear that only the two of you should be able to hear what she has to say. “You’re full of shit.”

 

You snap your head back, spine rigid, and narrow your eyes. “ _ Mean _ .”

 

She shrugs. “Truth.”

 

Puffing your cheeks out, you glance around the small physics classroom. Students are barely beginning to filter inside, voicing their protest with mumbled groans. MJ chews slowly on another piece of soggy fruit. 

 

“You know there are rules about eating in class,” you say. She merely shrugs and wipes the corner of her mouth with the sleeve of her favorite sweater- a ratty dark grey thing she’d gotten for her birthday two years before. 

 

She opens her mouth to speak when someone stumbles into the room, nearly clearing the contents of her desk in a single swipe. She scoops up her fruit, watching as Peter Parker barely manages to regain his balance against the wooden countertop. 

 

“ _ Sorry, _ ” he breathes, straightening himself and offering her a sheepish smile. “Sorry, MJ.”

 

His hair is windswept and the collar of his shirt crooked enough to make you think he flew here rather than ran. MJ doesn’t reply, only waves her hand in dismissal. He dips his head, smiling at you, and shuffles to the back of the classroom, you watch him go. 

 

“Idiot,” MJ mumbles fondly, shaking her head. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought that she had a thing for Peter, but after watching the pair interact over the last few months you’ve learned that there couldn’t be anything farther from the truth. 

 

Peter slips into a seat in the far corner, sliding his textbooks onto his desk and flipping them open before unfolding his laptop- an old cracked thing held together by various types of duct tape- and letting the outside world fade. You pull your eyes away from his hunched figure only to be met by MJ’s teasing stare. 

 

“Wow,” she says. “Parker  _ and _ Spider-Man. You are a  _ player, _ Y/L/N.”

 

“For the love of God,” you pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “Shut up.”

 

She laughs again, crossing her long arms across the table and shooting you a wink. “Yes ma’am.”

 

When the class finally ends fifty minutes later, your brain to feel like it’s on the edge of a short circuit, and your body floods with relief when the bell finally rings. 

 

“That was a nightmare,” MJ says, scooping up her things and tossing her empty bowl of fruit in the tiny trash can near the door. 

 

“So nothing new then,” you reply, following your friend as she leads the way to freedom. You barely make it through the door before she stops abruptly and you’re stumbling against her, unable to stop your momentum. 

 

“Peter!,” she calls over her shoulder, steadying herself against the door frame. “Hurry your ass up!’ 

 

“ _ Language,” _ your teacher snaps, to which the girl pays no heed. 

 

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming,” Peter says from behind you and you tilt your head back to look at him with a smile. His cheeks bloom a bright red but he returns the gesture nonetheless, balancing his laptop in one hand and his phone in the other. “Ned’s waiting near our lockers.”

 

“Got it,” MJ untangles herself from the door and begins her trek through the hall with new found purpose, leaving you and Peter alone to follow her trail.

 

He falls into step beside you, slipping his phone into his front pocket and adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 

 

“So what’d you get on the quiz?” You ask, angling your head. 

 

When he glances at you, there’s a smile pulling at his lips. Still,  despite the notion of happiness, he sounds almost disappointed. “Uh, a ninety-two.”  

 

“You don’t sound too thrilled,” You note.

 

He shrugs, then shakes his head. “I mean, I’m not- I could’ve done better.” You snort at that and he looks at you again, this time grinning. “What?” 

 

“No, nothing,” You say, pulling your eyes away from him and setting them on the path ahead but when he doesn’t do the same you finally say: “I just think it’s funny you think a ninety-two is a bad grade.”

 

“Well what’d you get?” 

 

“A seventy-five,” you answer. “Which I’m  _ proud _ of, by the way.”

 

“As you should be,” he says. 

 

“And  _ you _ should be happy with your ninety-two.”

 

“Try telling that to my grade average,” he gives you a pointed look before waving to Ned, who finally appears a way in front of you. MJ is standing next to him, her sketchbook flipped open in front of her and she glances in your direction every once in a while, a fact that you’re sure to talk to her about later. 

 

“What’s your grade average?” 

 

“It  _ was _ a ninety-eight.”

 

Your feet stop in place and Peter only takes a few more steps forward before he realizes you’re no longer next to him. You’re gaping at him when he finally turns around. 

 

“A  _ ninety-eight _ ?” you exclaim. “Who  _ are _ you?”

 

“Uh, Peter,” He points at his chest, eyebrows bumped together. You roll your eyes before walking to his side and nudging him gently. 

 

“You know what I mean,” You laugh, before hooking your arm through his and pulling him forwards. He lets out a breathless chuckle, stumbling along but he doesn’t shy away from your touch like most people do when you’re too straightforward. You’ve always been touchy, and you’ve learned the hard way that it takes a certain type of person to put up with it.

 

“Hey, Ned,” You say when you’re near enough, waving with your free hand. 

 

Ned grins, shooting Peter a mischievous glance before greeting you in return. When you look at the boy next to you he’s staring at the ground, red spots crawling up the back of his neck. You let go of him, jabbing your thumb over your shoulder. 

 

“I’m gonna go to my locker, see you guys in a sec.” Ned and Peter nod, the former offering you a timid smile before they huddle together in hushed voices. MJ gives no indication that she heard you and you shake your head with a smile before weaving your way through the slowly dwindling crowd. 

 

When you return a few minutes later, Peter’s hands are empty and MJ and Ned have disappeared. 

 

“They had detention, or something,” Peter winces at his words, but you’ve known MJ longer than today and it’s not strange for her to ditch you at random moments in the day. You’ve learned not to think much of it. 

 

“Just the two of us, then,” You nod to the exit. “Let’s get out of here.” 

 

“Okay,” He grips the straps of his bag and follows you until the cool, late afternoon air hits your face. You breathe it in, thankful to be out of the stuffy hallway and pad down the front steps with Peter following closely behind. 

 

You’ve known Peter for a while, smiled at him in between classes and chatted about subjects of little importance in the halls but you realize suddenly that you don’t  _ know _ Peter Parker. You barely know him at all. 

 

A light and happy something fills your chest and suddenly you have the unmistakable urge to go out and live. To not be cooped up in your too small room but to experience something, to make memories. To get to know Peter Parker.

 

You turn to him suddenly so suddenly that he skitters to a stop as not to run into you. You barely notice how close he is when you shout: “Let’s go do something!”

 

“Huh?” He says, his chest brushing yours. He takes a step back and blushes a deep red. “Do what?” 

 

“I have no clue,” You say, and you mean it. You don’t know what will satiate your sudden craving, only the feeling you’re set out to chase. “Something… something I’ve never done.” You supply, Peter furrows his brows. “Something I won’t forget.”

 

He hums, mulling it over before a grin splits his face, brighter than the sun. It’s a little crooked, a little silly and you’re struck by the strange familiarity of it. 

 

“I’ve got just the thing.” 

 

~

Near an hour later your chest is heaving with the effort it takes to climb the seemingly thousands of stairs that Peter is trampling with ease. 

 

The only thing keeping you from collapsing or abandoning this endeavour being the five dollar sandwiches in Peter’s hands and the promise of something incredible. 

 

“There had better be  _ cats _ up there or I might just punch you in the face,” You breathe. “ _ God,  _ I am out of shape.” 

 

“It’s not cats,” he laughs. “But it’s worth it. We’re almost there.”

 

_ Good, _ you think just as Peter pushes open a door leading out of the stuffy stairwell. When he’d first led you to the abandoned apartment complex you were confused, a little nervous and a lot intrigued, but after countless flights of stairs you’re as ready as you’ll ever be to arrive at your unknown destination. 

 

You quicken your pace as not to keep him waiting, and brace your hands against your knees when you finally push through into the top floor of the complex. “Okay,” you say.

 

“Okay,” Peter replies, and when you turn to look at the abandoned space around you, what little air that’s left in your lungs leaves in a flurry of shock. 

 

Cracked stain glass cover each window and though some of them are missing shards, the light coursing through them causes an ethereal glow to fill the room, splitting into colors of pink and blue. White sheets hang from wooden beams, floating across a phantom wind and before you can stop yourself you’re pacing forwards, stretching out a hand to touch the sheer cloth. 

 

“This is…” you shake your head. Peter hasn’t moved from the doorway, but lets the aperture fall shut as you take in your surroundings. “Wow.”

 

A smile pulls at his lips. “You haven’t seen the view.” 

 

That’s all it takes for you to rush to one of the many broken windows and through it. You can see the whole city from that tiny window. 

 

“H-how did you find this place?” you wonder aloud, unable to pull your gaze from the sight of your city, shining so new in the daylight. 

 

“My, uh,” he appears next to you, hands bracing against the ledge, minding the cracked pieces of glass littering it. “My uncle Ben showed it to me a few years back.” 

 

You finally pull your gaze, switching it to the boy next to you and your heart melts at the sight of him, so painfully vulnerable next to you. Next to someone he barely knows. 

 

You know what happened to his uncle, the same as the rest of your peers. You know about the shooting, you know that Peter was there when it happened and thanks to MJ you know he blames no one but himself. 

 

“I’ve never-” He swallows, tilting his head down and tapping the skin above his wrist lightly before glancing at you, just barely. “I’ve never showed anyone this before.” 

 

And suddenly you don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you  _ can _ say. You lean closer to him, close enough that your arms brush and whisper. “Thank you for showing it to me. It’s beautiful.” 

 

He nods, a smile on his lips and a blush blooming on his cheeks before he steps back. You watch as he pulls two chairs out from behind a curtain, wooden with chipped blue paint.

 

He sets them in front of the window, grabbing the paper bag filled with your food and plopping down the one farthest from you. You take the other. 

 

He hands you your sandwich and bites into his own the second you take it from him. The smell of the toasted bread wafts through the air and warms your chest. 

 

You watch him chew - uncaring of what he may look like, free- and huff out a laugh before biting into your own meal. 

 

“Oh my  _ god _ .” 

 

“Best sandwich shop in Queens,” Peter says around his food. He’s barely swallowed his first bite before he’s taking another. 

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?’ You joke, letting your eyes dart across the gorgeous city line. “And this  _ view.”  _ You shake your head. “If I lived here, I don’t think I’d ever leave.”

 

He swallows again and smiles. “You can come up here whenever you’d like.” 

 

“Really?” You ask, turning more fully to him. He does the same. 

 

“Sure,” he says. “That’s what-” The words die on his tongue, as if he’s suddenly grown unsure of himself, so you huddle closure, cupping your sandwich in your hands. 

 

“That’s what friends are for?” You finish. 

 

The corners of his mouth curl upwards. “That’s what friends are for.” 

 

~ 

 

You’re walking home alone from a study group with Peter, MJ and Ned near a week later when you see Spider-Man again, swinging across the skyline like a vigilante. 

 

He swings down next to you and speaks so suddenly you almost jump out of your skin. 

 

“What’re you doing out so late?” 

 

“ _ Oh my god,”  _ You stumble back, slipping on the damp concrete and Spider-Man doesn’t hesitate to release a web and pull you back. You crash into his chest and his hands land on your waist to steady you. 

 

He’s laughing when you look up at him and you glare, hitting his shoulder but your punch lacks passion and he barely moves.  

 

“Don’t  _ do  _ that,” you exclaim but you’re as bad at feigning anger as you are at holding grudges (something for which you don’t have the best track record) and it doesn’t take long before your laughter joins his. 

 

“Sorry,” he wheezes, composing himself before straightening his spine. “What’re you doing out so late?” He’s trying to sound serious, you know, and to your own credit you try to wipe the smile from your face before he can notice. 

 

“Sorry,” you bite your lip in an attempt to hide your amusement when the eyes of his mask shrink almost incredulously. “I, uh, had study group.” 

 

“It’s dangerous, you know.” 

 

You can almost hear the frown in his voice and you roll your eyes, pushing away from him. “Sorry  _ dad, _ ” You start to walk down the sidewalk again and it doesn’t take long for him to fall into step beside you. 

 

“That’s weird,” he says. You nod, glancing up at him.

 

“It is, a litte, isn’t it?” 

 

He hums, then cocks his head. “I could just swing you home, you know?” 

 

“But what’s the fun in that?” You tease, clasping your hands behind your back. “You don’t want to hang out with me?” 

 

“Nope.” 

 

You scoff and go to nudge his shoulder but he sidesteps you. You stumble in front of him and his hands shoot out to grab yours until you’re caught like a fly in his web, positioned strangely with your arms suspended next to you. You stop walking. 

 

“Wow,” Spider-Man’s chest brushes yours and you tilt your head back to look at him. “Titanic much?” you say. 

 

He laughs and shakes his head and releases one of your hands, going to pull up his mask before you push away from him with protests.

 

“What?” he asks, shock coating his voice. 

 

“Not so  _ public _ !” 

 

He presses a hand to his chest before saying: “There’s no one here, Y/N.” 

 

“There  _ could _ be!” You brandish your hands out in front of you. “What would people say if they knew I was kissing Spider-Man in the middle of the street?” 

 

_ What would Peter say? _

 

The question burns in your mind so suddenly that you almost take a step back with the sheer force of it. What  _ would _ he say? Would he care? Why do  _ you _ care?

 

Ever since he showed you his secret spot, the two of you have grown closer, sharing each secret you could muster.  _ All but one. _ He trusts you and if he realized that you  _ lied  _ to him you could not only ruin your newfound friendship but-

 

You shake your head. “Not here.” 

 

“Alright,” He raises his hands in surrender before opening his arms as an invitation. You know he would never pressure you, if you said no he wouldn’t question it. Hell, the first time he’d kissed you he made sure to ask if it was okay more times than you can remember. So you hesitate, but only for a moment, before you wrap your arms around his neck and he takes you flying across Queens once more. 

 

You land on your fire escape only five minutes later, the metal creaking beneath your feet, and he runs his fingers through your hair the second you’re steadied. He tames the locks as best he can and your heart warms at the gesture. 

 

“You’re a big sweetheart, you know that?” 

 

He huffs but you can tell he’s smiling from the stretch of his mask. “I know.” He tucks a lock behind your ear. “It’s  _ inconceivable _ .” His voice changes with the word, coated in a thick lisp. You roll your eyes. 

 

“Thank you, SM.” 

 

He lifts his mask over his nose and you can barely make out the dusting of freckles covering his nose under the pale light shining through your window. 

 

He presses closer to you, and you let your hands smooth over the fabric of his suit, right over his heart. It’s beating quickly and the thought that he still gets nervous makes you smile. His nose brushes yours. 

 

“That’s what friends are for.” 

 

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

 

But he’s already kissing you again, his lips softly pressing against yours and the suspicions that seemed so clear in the forefront of your mind fade away and tuck into dusty corners. 

 

His thumb dances across your jaw, light enough that you almost think you’ve imagined it until he presses harder and you’re melting under his touch. 

 

But all too soon he’s pulling away again, breathing heavy and cheeks flushed pink. You’re sure you’re no better. 

“What?” you ask, dropping your hands and attempting to school your features; attempting to hide the flicker of disappointment. 

 

Spider-Man shakes his head, the gesture gentle but  _ sad _ , somehow. 

 

“I have to tell you something,” he says and your brows bump together again. 

 

He sounds more serious than you’ve ever heard him. “Okay.” 

 

His chest rises and falls deeply and you can hear the short staccato taps against his web despenser.  _ He’s nervous. _

 

Your heart beats painfully in your chest but when you open your mouth to reassure the both of you, a loud bang pulls the attention. A burst of light erupts across the city and Spider-Man tenses even more impossibly. 

 

“Whatever you have to say,” you shake your head. “It can wait.” 

 

He nods, eyes still scanning the skyline. You reach for his hand.

 

“Go get ‘em, Spidey.” 

 

He squeezes your palm, once, before pulling down his mask. And then he’s gone like a shadow in the night and all that you’re left with is an unsaid confession and a heavy head. 

 

~

 

When you see Peter at school the following week, he avoids your eyes; he avoids  _ you _ completely and you find yourself trying to catch his attention throughout the dragging hours to no avail. It almost makes you wonder if he somehow knows about you and Spider-Man; or if someone told him.

 

MJ’s hands are tapping against her desk, stuttering an irregular beat, but when you voice your concern they fall still. 

 

“You think I told him?” she asks, glancing up at you.

 

“ _ No _ ,” you shake your head, scribbling through an equation on your tattered notebook page before running your fingers across it. Your skin comes away smudged with pencil stains and you rub them on your jeans before turning to your friend. “I just don’t  _ get _ it.” 

 

“It’s only been a day, maybe he’s just on his period or something,”  You roll your eyes at the quip, bending your head low to feign interest in your books as the teacher strolls past. 

 

“It just isn’t like him,” you whisper. “And he’s not being weird around  _ you _ .” 

 

“Maybe ask him then.” 

 

“No,” you cross your arms and give her a pointed look. “It’s 2019; you don’t just  _ talk _ to people.”

 

“Okay, now you’re just being whiney,” she arches a sharp brow and you wrinkle your nose, turning your head to glance at the boy in question. He’s seated in the back of the class, as per usual, with his head bent over his notebook. His pencil is moving across his paper furiously and every so often he glances up to mumble something to Ned. Every so often he glances up to look at you. He never looks long, of course, only until his face heats and he’s forced to look away. 

 

You narrow your eyes, watching him for a few more moments before returning your gaze to your crumpled paper. “He’s hiding something.” 

 

“That so?” 

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” you press. “And you know something.”

 

“Do I?” she cocks her head and grins just as the shrill sound of the bell echoes through the classroom, followed by the immediate shuffling of feet and mumbling of voices. MJ stands, shoving her books into her still open backpack. “Just ask him, Y/N. He’ll tell you.”

 

You rest your chin in the palm of your hand and watch her sling the bag over her shoulder. “How do you know he won’t just ignore me again?”

 

“Cause he knows I’ll kick his ass if he does,” a smile pulls at her lips and despite yourself, a soft chuckle slips past your own. She pats your head twice. “Chin up,” she says. “If he really keeps ignoring you, corner him and  _ make _ him listen.” 

 

You nod and she offers you one last smile before leaving the classroom with the tide of students trying to escape a Tuesday afternoon. Before she leaves, though, she whistles at Ned like a master calling her dog. He races after you, shooting you a sheepish smile when he passes and then they’re gone and you’re nearly alone in the suddenly chilly classroom. 

 

You glance behind you again.

 

Peter is packing his bag slowly, no doubt waiting for you to leave first so that he can make his escape, so you pack yours slower.

 

When he finally tries to sneak past you, you stretch your hand out to catch him by the elbow and he reels to a stop. 

 

“Peter.”

 

“H-hey,” he gives you one fleeting glance before pulling his arm from your grip and backing away. Your heart twists painfully in your chest. He really  _ is _ avoiding you then. “I’ve got to go.  _ Sorry.”  _

 

“Wait-” you reach out a hand but he’s already through the door, slipping over air and out of sight. You shake your head, MJ’s words still ringing in your ears. ‘ _ Make him listen.’ _

 

He barely makes it through the exit when you catch him, grabbing his elbow with two hands this time and braking  _ hard _ .

 

“Peter  _ wait,” _ you say, letting the irritation seep into your voice. “What is going  _ on _ with you?” 

 

He looks at you, he  _ stares  _ at you and his eyes fill with something you can’t place. You realize then you have no  _ idea _ what’s going through his head. You barely have any idea who he  _ is _ . His lips part slightly, his tongue darting out to dance across them for barely a moment before he’s shaking his head and turning away again. Only this time you don’t let him. 

 

“I have to go,” he says. 

 

“Like  _ hell _ you do,” you bark, still gripping his arm. You can feel his muscles tensing underneath your fingers. “What did I do?”

 

His spine straightens at that, and he looks at you over his shoulder, eyes wide. “What?” 

 

“What’d I do?” you say again, softer this time. “Obviously I did  _ something _ you haven’t looked at me in days.” he shakes his head, like he doesn’t understand. “If you don’t tell me what it is I can’t fix it, Peter.” 

 

“You-” he furrows his brows. “You didn’t do  _ anything _ .” 

 

“Then what is it?” you finally let go of him and throw up your arms in frustration. “Do you just  _ hate _ me all of the sudden?”

 

“Y/N  _ no-” _

 

“Did you regret showing me your spot? Am I too  _ mean  _ or  _ intense _ or-” 

 

“ _ No!” _ Peter shakes his head, reaching for you but you pull away. Your brain is throbbing with doubts and explanations. 

 

“Then  _ what-?” _

 

Your words cut off suddenly, like someone reached into your throat and snuffed them out of existence, or alternatively someone grabbed your face and kissed you, which  _ yes. _

 

Peter’s mouth is soft against yours, his skin burning holes through the fabric of your shirt but it’s over just as quickly as it starts. He stumbles back, hands hefted in front of him. 

 

“ _ I’m so sorry,”  _ he says, but there’s a tiny smile pulling at the edge of his lips. He shakes his head. “I- I shouldn’t have done that.” 

 

You just stare at him, lips parted and skins still tingling from where he touched you but there’s something  _ strange _ about it. Something familiar. 

 

You press your fingers to your mouth. “You-” but you can’t think of anything to say. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and really you wish he’d stop apologizing while you try to sort out your thoughts. It’s not that you don’t want to kiss him, you think you  _ do _ even if you shouldn’t; but it almost seems like you already have. 

 

“I-” you start, then shake your head. “I can’t kiss you.”

 

“Oh,” he says, softer. “I- I shouldn’t have-”

 

“I just,” you twist the fabric of your t-shirt between your fingers. “I’m kind of- I kind of have a  _ thing _ with someone and I just don’t want to-” you roll your lips together. “It feels like  _ cheating _ .”

 

“ _ Oh,”  _ he blinks at you, not nearly as hurt as you’d expected him to be, and scratches the back of his neck. His face reddens but he’s biting back a smile somehow. “Right, I shouldn’t have just kissed you.”

 

“Right,” you agree.

 

“You know what,” Peter laughs breathlessly, backing away slowly. “Just don’t say anything.” 

 

You nod, a smile breaking through despite your confusion and guilt. Suddenly all the anger you had harbored towards him fades away and you can barely remember why you had it in the first place. “Okay.”

 

“Yeah?” he’s grinning like a maniac and you nod, swallowing again but your throat feels dry and scratchy. “Okay, cool.” 

 

“Cool.”

 

He disappears quickly after that, leaving you alone to your thoughts and the mess you’ve somehow gotten yourself into. 

 

Your hand strays to your pocket, grasping for your phone before you think better of it. The only person to tell would be MJ, but you’re not even sure what you would say.

 

A cold drop of  _ wet _ lands on your nose so suddenly a moment later that you balk, glancing up to the sky. But strangely, it’s free of clouds and the sun is beating down on the city still. You wipe it from your skin, inspecting the tiny bead of liquid, now so clearly  _ not _ water. 

 

In the heat of the sun it takes on an almost brownish color. You furrow your brows. 

It could be oil, but how could oil fall from the sky?

 

You’re still inspecting when you hear a strange sort of buzz in your left ear, building and building until it’s unmistakable and painful and  _ right next to you _ .

 

You whirl around, gripping the straps of your bag just as someone calls your name, short and breathless and  _ Peter? _ But then you’re flying through the sky and gripping Spider-Man’s shoulders for dear life. 

 

“What’re you doing?” you call out, nails digging into his suit. Your bag is beating against your back angrily with each new swing, so you squeeze your eyes shut and hope that Spider-Man will have the decency to put you down sooner rather than later. 

 

He  _ does _ , landing on a rather  _ tall _ building but he doesn’t let go of you. He doesn’t even  _ look  _ at you.

 

“What the  _ hell _ are you doing?” you bark, trying to shove him away. “You scared the shit out of me! You can’t just go around grabbing people SM that’s danger-”

 

He presses a clothed palm against your lips and shushes you so suddenly that you can’t help but fall still. His body is rigid beneath his suit, the eyes of his mask wide with what you can only guess is worry and when he speaks his voice is laced with it. 

 

“There’s not a lot of time to explain,” he says. He’s grasping your shoulder with a free hand and you can’t help but watch him with frightened eyes. “We’re in danger.”

 

“ _ We?” _ you try to shout, but it comes out muffled and strained. 

 

“You have to  _ trust  _ me,” he shakes his head, eyes closing and opening slowly. He’s panting breathlessly. “Please don’t hate me.” 

 

He lets go of your mouth and you can only muster a quick, “Why would I hate you?” before he’s pulling you close again and swinging you away. When you glance over his shoulder you can see the beginnings of what must be a giant robotic  _ something _ , searching the spot where you just resided. Your heart thumps in your chest.

 

“Don’t hate me,” he says again, landing on a creaky fire escape and shoving you through a broken window, mindful not to cut you on the stained glass. Then he’s gone, like he was never there to begin with. He’s gone and you’re left in Peter Parker’s abandoned hideout, one that no one else should know exists.

 

~ 

 

You’re tucked in the corner of the room when Peter finally returns, clamoring through the same window he shoved you through. The Spider-Man suit hugs his body tightly and he’s shoved the cloth mask under the belt buckled around his waist. If you weren’t so torn you’d admire the way his hair falls, or you’d try to inspect the bloody cut across his cheek. Instead you only stare at him with red-rimmed eyes and a cotton tongue. 

 

He takes a single step forward, his face aching with sadness at the sight of you so  _ small _ and scared. So betrayed. 

 

“Y/N,” he says. “Let me explain.” 

 

And you want to scream at him. You want to punch him and kick him and spit in his face for making you look like a fool. You want to hug him for being alive. You want to kiss him for being him. 

 

“What is there to explain?” the words pass your lips in a croak and you try to swallow back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. 

 

Peter’s chin quivers and you almost feel ashamed for being angry, for being  _ hurt _ . Then you remember that you can’t help the way that you feel, whether it’s selfish or not. 

 

“You lied to me,” you say. He winces at the statement. 

 

“I didn’t want to,” he shakes his head, his curls go flying with the movement. Somehow they’re covered in soot and by the light filtering in through the window the strands take on a darker hue. “I was trying to protect you.” 

 

You rub your nose with the sleeve of your sweater, processing the words. “Protect me how?”

 

“I-”

 

“By kissing me as Spider-Man, befriending me as Peter and then ignoring me as both?” 

 

He breaks your stare, carding his fingers through his hair. More dust erupts from it and you do your best not to stare. Even when you’re mad at him, even when he’s bloody and covered in dust he’s beautiful. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- I was- I panicked.” 

 

“And  _ then _ ,” you shake your head. “And then kissing me as Peter too and letting me feel  _ guilty _ about it.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

 

No words aid your tongue, for what feels like the millionth time that day and a shake of the head is all you can muster. 

 

You stand, brushing off the dust that’s collected on your skin. Peter looks close to tears and you  _ hate _ him for making you want to fall into his arms. For making you want to comfort  _ him. _

 

He’s standing near the door and you almost expect him to stop you when you reach for the handle. You almost expect him to grab your arm and make you listen, to make you stay but he’s  _ Peter _ . And Peter watches you go. 

 

You realize that you hate him when you finally break out of the building and into fresh air. You hate him for lying to you. You hate him for embarrassing you. You hate him for dragging you along. You hate him for not going after you. You hate him for making you not hate him.

 

~

 

He doesn’t come to school for three days after. You don’t think of him for two.

 

On the last day of his absence, MJ corners you in the cafeteria and grabs your wrist. You barely have time to blink before she’s pulling you out of the room and through the exit doors, mutter something to herself. 

 

“ _ What _ , MJ?” 

 

She shakes her head, turning to you all at once when the two of you are left alone and exclaiming, “You’re being stupid!” 

 

You balk at her words, trying to dissect them. “I’m being stupid?”

 

“ _ Yes,”  _ her hair flutters as the wind around you picks up, revealing the eye she usually keeps hidden and you stare into them, searching for some sort of explanation. “Both of you are.” 

 

“MJ-” you start, but she pulls her fingers over her lips in a  _ zip it _ motion, effectively staunching the flow of words pouring from you. You’re not really sure what you would’ve said anyways. 

 

“No, you need to hear this.” she says. “Or it’s going to kill you.” 

 

You press your lips together in a firm line, watching her through saddened eyes. “Okay.”

 

“Peter is an idiot, but he’s also just a  _ kid _ ,” she tips her head to the side. “We  _ all _ are, we make mistakes that’s part of our charm, but-  _ you have to understand _ \- he didn’t do what he did to hurt you.”

 

“He lied to me.”

 

“Which was fucking stupid,” she agrees. “But you loved him as Spider-Man and you loved him as Peter,” something unfurls in your chest at the words. “Why can’t you love him as both?”

 

“I never said I loved him,” is the only thing you can think to say. MJ somehow finds it in herself to roll her eyes. 

 

“Whatever,” she sighs. “The point is that he’s killing himself over this. He thinks you hate him.”

 

“Maybe I do.”

 

“You  _ don’t _ , and if you don’t do something it’ll kill you too.”

 

You suck on your teeth, trying to fight the emotions of sympathy flooding your gut. “Why do you care this much?”

 

She sighs deeply through her nose, dropping your arm to scratch her elbow instead. No doubt in an effort to keep her hands occupied. “Because you’re my friends and I want you to be happy but apparently the two of you are so angsty that you can’t do that without each other.” 

 

You blink at her words. “What do you suggest I do?”

 

“Just talk to him,” exasperation leaks into her voice and she gazes at you with pleading eyes. “Just talk to him.”

 

~

 

You arrive at Peter’s apartment near twenty minutes later at MJ’s request. 

 

She’d shoved you off campus with the promise of covering for you in the lessons to come, “Like I always do!’ she’d called, even though it was only a first time offense. 

 

And when you had knocked on the Parker’s door, Peter’s aunt had pulled you inside with a warm greeting and a smile like the sun. She leads you through the small apartment now, holding a dish towel in one hand and a pair of circular glasses in the other. 

 

“Sorry for the mess,” she says, smiling at you over her shoulder before pursing her lips and waving the towel through the air in an attempt to banish the smoke filtering in through the kitchen. “Peter didn’t tell me he was expecting guests.”   
  


“Oh, well he wasn’t exactly,” you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, slowing your pace half a step. “I just, uh, I need to talk to him.”

 

She nods in understanding, but you’re shocked at the words that leave her mouth next. 

 

“You found out then, huh?” she turns to you, sliding her glasses onto her face and resting her free hand on her cocked hip. You gape at the woman, at her nonchalance and she laughs. “Peter was never the best at keeping secrets.”

 

You snort at that, despite yourself. “Tell me about it.”

 

“Alright well,” May tosses the smokey towel across the room and it lands haphazardly on what seems to be a burnt meatloaf. “He’s in his room. If he asks, I’ll be out buying us dinner.” she shoots you a wink before dancing around the corner, leaving you alone to stare at Peter’s bedroom door.

 

You wonder if you should even knock. 

 

Then you do, two short taps with a fist. Peter’s voice echoes from the other side a moment later, a soft croak. 

 

“It’s open,” he says and for a moment you’re afraid he thinks you’re May, but when you push past the door the sad look in his eyes barely flickers. “Thought you were Ned.”

 

The skin peeking out from underneath his t-shirt shows signs of faded bruising and you catch the sight of a tiny jagged line running down the skin of his cheek, barely noticeable. 

 

“Why are you here?” he asks. You don’t know what answer to give him, so you try to muster the truth. 

 

“MJ-” but Peter scoffs before you can get far. You furrow your brows. “What?”

 

He shakes his head, tangling his bedsheets between his fingers. He doesn’t look at you, like he can’t bear it. “I just-” his adam's apple bobs softly. “I just hoped that you’d come here for  _ you _ not for her.”

 

“I didn’t come here for her,” you say, unable to keep the harshness from your words. “Or for me. I came here for  _ you _ .” 

 

He glances up at that. “Why?” the same question, spoken differently. 

 

“She said you were killing yourself.” 

 

“I’m not.”

 

You breathe out a harsh laugh, letting your eyes jump to his bedroom wall. It’s covered in posters and pages torn from notebooks. When you focus hard enough you can make out the faint lines of suit designs scribbled with pen. “I’ll just go then.”

 

You turn to the door but you don’t get far before something cold and sticky is pulling on the skin of your wrist. Peter pulls you back with a tiny web and you shiver underneath your sweater. 

 

“Don’t do that,” you say. 

 

“I’m Spider-Man,” he replies.

 

“No shit,” Peter watches you closely as you tear the silk from your skin and fling it to the ground. “Doesn’t mean you can  _ web _ people whenever you want to.”

 

“Whatever,” he mumbles, making you balk at his tone. This isn’t the Peter you know. He rubs at the skin under his eyes and it’s only then that you notice how prominent the bruises on his skin are. 

 

“When’s the last time you slept?”

 

He rips his web despenser from his wrist and lets it bounce of his mattress. He looks like a toddler throwing a fit, tangled in the sheets of his bed with a frown and tired eyes. You’d laugh if you weren’t so angry.

 

“Doesn’t matter.”   
  


“It does,” you say, taking a step towards him. He watches you move, brows furrowing. “You have to take care of yourself, Pete.”

 

He sniffles and looks down again, uncaring as his curls fall into his eyes. “If I can’t use my webs, then you can’t call me that.”

 

Your heart twists in your chest. “That’s different.”

 

“Not really,” he tilts his head, mouth twisting downwards. 

 

“Fine,” you throw your hands in the air, too angry to sound sincere. “You have to take care of yourself,  _ Peter _ .”

 

He laughs unkindly. “Like you care.”

 

“ _ Of course _ I care!”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because  _ I love you! _ ” Your chest heaves as the words hurtle from your tongue, and the world goes almost deafeningly silent. “ _ God _ , don’t you get it?”

 

Peter blinks up at you like you’ve started screaming in an ancient language. 

 

“I  _ love _ you,” you say, softer now taking a step forward and falling to your knees in front of him. “I wanted so badly for it to be you, but you hurt me and I needed time.”

 

The only sound between you is the sound of breathing. Yours and his, tangling together until you can’t tell the inhales from the exhales. Peter closes his eyes. 

 

“I lied to you.”

 

“You did,” you nod, reaching for his hands. “But you’re only human, Peter. You’re just a kid, I didn’t  _ see _ that, and I get the feeling you forget sometimes too.” 

 

He laughs, soft and vulnerable and squeezes your palms. “A kid who can stop a bus with his bare hands.”

 

“But still a  _ kid. _ ”

 

His brows bump at that, like the simplicity of it didn’t ever occur to him, then his eyes widen and he meets your gaze. “You love me?”

 

“Yes,” you lean upwards and he follows your lead, pressing his forehead down against yours. “You’re  _ you.” _

 

A dazzling grin splits his face, lighting up the room and your heart stutters in your chest at the sight of it. He shakes his head. “I need to go to bed.”

 

You laugh, pulling away a little. “ _ What?”   _

 

His hand drifts to a lock of your hair and he twirls it around his fingers. His eyes glaze over. “I think I’m dreaming.”

 

You smile, chewing on your bottom lip before leaning up to capture his own in a kiss. He hums against your mouth. 

 

“You’re not,” you whisper when you pull away. “But please don’t lie to me again, even if you think you’re protecting me.”

 

He opens his eyes and his gaze grows serious again. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I love you,” you say again. Now that you’ve tasted the word on your tongue you can’t get enough of it and seemingly Peter can’t either. He grins. 

 

“Say it again.”

 

“I love you, Pete,” you cock your head to the side, and then a new thought occurs to you. “You know you haven’t even said it back.”

 

Peter’s eyes jump to the ceiling and he purses his lips playfully. “I don’t  _ know _ ,” he says. 

 

“ _ Peter!”  _ you laugh, mouth hanging open. You shove his shoulder softly and he falls back on his mattress with a snort.

 

He stares at the barring above him before turning his head into his pillow and gazing at you with half lidded eyes. “Y/N, I’m in love with you.” then he smiles again. 

 

You shoot forwards to drop a soft kiss on his lips but he pulls you closer, lifting you over him and onto the mattress. 

 

“I’m in love with you,” he says again, his voice thick and tired. “If you weren’t already aware.”

 

“Mhm,” you run your fingers through his curls as his eyes flutter shut. “Go to sleep.” you say.

 

“As you wish.”


End file.
